


Chained To Your Sense

by notsafeforwank (comeonlight)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Iris' Tongue, Non-smut That Should Be Smut, Post-Time Skip, Smooching, Smut and Non-smut, Spanking, Strap-Ons, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeonlight/pseuds/notsafeforwank
Summary: IriAra shorts, because yes. Titles inspired by shuffling my music library.
Relationships: Iris Amicitia/Aranea Highwind
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Detlom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris and Aranea keep each other warm at camp during a hunt.

Aranea doesn't get any closer to people than she needs to, as a matter of principle. More friends means more potential memorial services to attend and more heartache. As far as physical intimacy goes, Aranea has a strict policy of one night stands and favors for the sake of stress relief — and even then, only when it's absolutely necessary. Strings make for a messy, knotted up web. Nobody needs the burden of a doomed romance when the world is in shambles.

Needless to say, Aranea is more than bewildered when Iris, sweet but strong Iris, subverts her foolproof policy.

They'd never talked about it; not for real. Their banter had always been playful. Occasionally flirtatious, sure, but nothing to insinuate an honest desire for anything more than a beer after a particularly grueling hunt. Maybe Aranea was just being dense. It's easier to be dense. It's easier not to think about how Iris gives everyone a bright and confident smile to raise morale, but when she's alone with Aranea her smile is weary but far more sincere. It's easier not to think about how beautiful both of those smiles are.

Outside the city, the temperature drops harshly on a regular basis. Less light means less heat, after all. Even a strong campfire and thick blankets can only do so much, so it's common for participants in longer hunts to huddle for warmth after making camp. Skin-to-skin is simply a survival tactic, unless a pair of hunters just happen to be banging anyway. Nobody cares as long as it's kept inside the tent.

It's a survival tactic, nothing more, and Aranea isn't unfamiliar with it. She  _ is _ unfamiliar with Iris' body beyond what her workout clothes during the summer reveal. The girl's built — nowhere near as bulky as her brother, but she certainly hasn't been slacking on her training or missions. Scars are scattered about, most small and some big. She's all muscle, save for the tits of course, and Aranea looks away before she's caught staring. Iris starts to fold Aranea's clothes, since she was folding her own anyway. “Thanks,” Aranea murmurs, and she quickly slips into the sleeping bag in nothing but her underwear. She watches Iris' shadow in the campfire's glow, finishing up the folding and crawling over toward her.

Aranea mentally slaps herself when Iris settles into the sleeping bag with her. She's breathing heavier than usual, when there's no good reason to. The adrenaline from the last fight has long worn off, and she's tired as hell. She should be out in an instant, but her mind is racing a million miles an hour in circles. Iris sighs against her neck and nuzzles a bit with a drowsy hum. Aranea is  _ not  _ keen to admit how nice it feels.

“You okay?” Iris asks, her voice a little gruff from the labor of the trek but still so tender and refreshing in Aranea's ears. Aranea draws in a breath and tries to relax her muscles. Tensing up in the sparse downtime on this mission is the last thing she needs to be doing. Despite Iris being so warm and soft against her back, the goosebumps won't subside. Aranea might give herself a pass if she was just horny, because everyone gets horny —  _ especially  _ at the least appropriate times, but this feels a little different. And a little dangerous.

Iris places her palm flat on Aranea's stomach, and Aranea can't find it in herself to protest. Calloused fingertips draw light circles on her skin and Iris asks in that voice of hers: “This okay?”

Aranea's head tilts back a little on its own, and she figures it'd be more awkward to tilt it forward again than to leave things as they are. “Mhm,” she says, fighting to keep herself from purring the affirmation. At this point she expects Iris to say something flirtatious, or to kiss her neck or grab her boob. Iris isn't shy, after all; if anything, she's shameless.

But Iris doesn't make a move. She rubs Aranea's stomach, breathing against her neck, keeping her warm. Oh, to just keep her like this forever. To be cared for in such a tiny way so typical of sweet Iris. Aranea stops herself; that way of thinking is dangerous. Just fuck and get it over with.

“Hey.” Aranea silently swears at herself with every vulgarity in the book. She tries to persuade herself out of this by imagining Gladiolus and his potential reaction if she  _ did  _ fuck his sister. It doesn't work of course; she's never feared him in any capacity and the image is more laughable than anything. And it doesn't exactly help that every word Iris speaks into her ear seems to have some emboldening quality.

“Hm? What's up?” Iris' intonation carries the slightest hint of concern, and Aranea can almost physically feel herself going soft.

“I um… Shit, how do I put this?”

Iris waits on her in patient silence, nuzzling Aranea's neck again as she tries — keyword  _ tries  _ — to think.

“So, one. How do you feel about...me? And followup, I think I'm horny.”

Iris props herself up on one warm, keeping her other hand on Aranea's belly, and the top part of the sleeping bag slides off. “Is it really fair to ask me that when you're holding back?”

“Didn't take you for the type to read people like an inventory list.”

“I read plenty, just not out loud.”

“Yeah? Great. But answer my question.”

Iris takes her hand away from Aranea's stomach and scratches her head. “Alright. Simply put, I like you. I know you just  _ hate _ the other word; but I like you. I like you a lot. Of course, you were too dense to pick up on it. Or should I go with stubborn?”

“Shut it,” Aranea says, rolling onto her back. She looks up at Iris and sees that dangerous compassion in her eyes cutting through the shadows. “...Not all of us are as strong as you.”

“No,” Iris says. She climbs on top of Aranea, straddling her — to no protest whatsoever — and reaches back to pull the top of the sleeping bag up to trap at least some heat. “But you don't have to be.” She cups Aranea's cheeks with her hands and gradually lowers herself until their chests touch. “Let me take care of you.”

Aranea doesn’t need any taking care of. Both of them know that.

But...it might be nice.

“You’ve got a way with words and puppy eyes,” Aranea relents and she reaches into Iris’ hair, pulling her down into the first kiss Aranea’s had since who even fucking knows or cares. It's like a breath of fresh air and Aranea enjoys it far more than she thinks she ought to. Iris kisses her slowly, softly, and gives her that look — that gut wrenchingly sweet look that makes Aranea not care that she's losing sleep — in between each one. 

Aranea moves her hands to Iris' waist and they begin to slide down but Iris won't have it. Iris breaks their kiss and draws her hands away from Aranea's face to instead take her wrists and pin them above her head. Aranea draws a sharp breath through her nose and exhales just as heavily. Normally she'd turn the tables in an instant, if her partner were dumb enough to try to hold her down or otherwise take charge of the situation. Exceptions are a fact of life, however, and Aranea decides against making Iris eat dirt, or blanket fibers in this case. Instead she watches Iris curiously, with an unconscious little pout on her face.

Iris’ smile curls into something a little more mischievous for a moment as she whispers, “You’re cute,” then kisses Aranea again with a contented sigh. Aranea feels Iris’ tongue soon after, prominent but not quite intrusive. More than anything, Aranea wonders how that tongue might feel on her other set of lips. Maybe she’ll find out soon. Iris’ nipples are hard against her skin, assuredly not from the cold because Aranea is burning up.

Iris moves her kisses to Aranea’s neck, and Aranea gladly tilts her head to allow easier access. Aranea bites her lip with a little smirk, almost ready to laugh at herself for enjoying this so much. What can she say? Iris just happens to be really good with her mouth. So much so that the soft touches have Aranea wrapping her legs around Iris’ waist — as best she can in a sleeping bag anyway, which admittedly isn’t much — and saying, “We should fuck.” She compliments it with a sigh and a slight roll of her hips.

Iris shuts Aranea down — “Can’t,” — while still planting kisses and breathing hot air onto her neck.

“And why’s that?” Aranea asks, undeterred. Iris’ actions seem to betray her words anyway; she releases Aranea’s wrists and grabs her breasts instead, carefully kneading them and rolling each nipple between her fingers: slow, restrained, and damn near tantalizing.

“Too loud,” Iris says, words vibrating against Aranea’s throat. Aranea’s hands fall back into her hair, combing through it like second nature. “We’d be so loud.”

Aranea sucks in air between her teeth. “You mean... _ you’d  _ be so loud?”

“No.” Iris’ voice is as desperate as it is certain.  _ “Gods,  _ we’d be so loud.” She bites but it’s painless, so unduly cautious; Aranea can’t be bothered to think about why. It feels good. It feels  _ right,  _ even while being denied what the most primal parts of her brain crave. “I want to, Aranea,” Iris breathes, lowering her lips to Aranea’s collarbone. “But we  _ can’t.  _ We’d be so  _ sore  _ and  _ exhausted  _ and…” Aranea feels a quiet little groan reverberate against her skin, and the sound of it has her rolling her hips again, grinding for all she can get.

Iris pushes herself upright, robbing Aranea of what little relief was in her reach. She pushes Aranea’s legs apart and pinches the top edge at the front of her panties. “Gods…” She pulls up and the outline of Aranea’s folds become visible in the dim light. A surprised yelp slips through Aranea’s lips, followed by a subdued but protracted moan. “I want to,” Iris says again. “But we’d be too loud. I want to give you everything.” She releases the panties and slides her hands up Aranea’s body with slow appreciation, stopping where she began with her hands cupping Aranea’s face. “Slow. And deep. _Everything._ As much as you want. As long as you want.” The following kiss is sloppy and needy, but brief. It leaves Aranea panting nonetheless.

Iris rolls onto her side. “That’s why we have to wait.” She stretches her arm out and grabs Aranea’s shoulder, then drags her in close. Aranea closes her eyes with a huff. If she weren’t so mindfucked, she’d be swearing up a storm and Iris would have another scar for her collection. But she  _ is  _ mindfucked. She’s dazed, and warm, and she trusts Iris when it comes down to it. Damn Iris; she’s just about the only person  _ no one _ can stay mad at. Aranea closes her eyes, and lets gentle caresses on her stomach slowly — so, so slowly, but surely — lull her to rest.

  
  
  


Needless to say, the targets of the hunt are later torn to shreds more or less by Aranea’s lance alone.


	2. Detlom, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they fucked.  
> Sequel to the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this like 5 times, I can feel the writer's block coming after me, help-

Iris can't help herself. She'd asked Aranea so eagerly and happily, "What would you like?" Aranea had looked her right in the eyes and said, "Everything."

  
  


Aranea's head is all the way back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed and toes curling as Iris indulges, nose pressed to her mound and tongue gliding greedily against her folds. Iris is messy, saliva dribbling from her chin as she licks away, and the sense of urgency just drives her deeper into desperation. “Ara,” she whimpers distinctly before she gracelessly slurps on Aranea's clit, and she can swear she feels Aranea shiver.

_ “Yes,”  _ Aranea calls into the air, and she's moving her hips. Iris uses what little of her clear mind remains to stop herself from grabbing Aranea's hips and dragging them forward herself; no, she shouldn't steal that small liberty. Iris occupies her hands with Aranea's knees instead, keeping them spread but not still.

If Iris' mouth weren't so busy she'd be singing Aranea's praises — telling her how beautiful she is, how good she tastes and smells;  _ Six,  _ the scent of her alone is maddening in the best way. “‘Nea,” and then her neck is rolling in small circles, the flat of her tongue pressed to Aranea's swollen lips.

“Oh,” Aranea mumbles, followed by a shaky sigh. “Just...stay like that. Right there.”

Iris grants Aranea’s request and there's something extremely gratifying about having brought her this far with just her mouth, about having Aranea throbbing and wet and pushing up against her, climax undoubtedly on the horizon.

Aranea lets out a deep groan and Iris lives for it. “Close…” Iris wants to stop, just withdraw her tongue and let Aranea burn in the feeling before bringing her over the edge, but she denies the urge. They have time, after all. Hours, granted that they're not called in for an emergency. Iris chooses to believe in Lady Luck this time.

“Fuck,” Aranea growls, and Iris can feel her shaking, hips rising and clit pulsing hot on her tongue. Iris doesn’t let up; not until the tension in Aranea’s muscles relaxes completely and she reclines onto her back. “That was,” Aranea starts, and Iris is already crawling into bed with her, reaching past her chest for the blue strap on top of the blanket. “I liked that.”

“I like that you liked that,” Iris says, fastening the harness almost haphazardly. She reaches past Aranea again for the bottle of lube — it doesn’t even cross her mind to ask Aranea to pass it, really. Iris practically spills the liquid on the dildo, showing no concern for her already well-worn and well-stained blanket as she leaves the rest to spill out. “Here—” Iris sits up and drags Aranea into her lap with ease, back against her chest.

“Hah,” Aranea says, breath not quite recovered yet. “Eager much?”

“Can’t help it,” Iris says, and she truly, truly can’t. She buries her face against Aranea’s shoulder and breathes her in, hands moving to her breasts to praise them with squeezes and caresses. Aranea rests her weight on Iris, who, in all her fervent distraction, remembers to move her hips so that the edge of the dildo slides teasingly against Aranea’s slit.

Iris moves her lips to Aranea’s neck, tongue and teeth untamed, intent on making as many marks as they can. She hears Aranea hum, feels the vibration against her tongue, and can’t help but whisper her adoration. “You’re so good. Aranea, you’re so _good.”_ Her fingers roll Aranea’s nipple and pinch, and Aranea makes a noise that sounds pleased — _very_ pleased. So Iris does it again, with both breasts, rewarded with the sound of Aranea’s groans. Iris lifts her hips a little, pressing the dildo between Aranea’s lips. Aranea gives a low hum, encouraging her. Iris...is happy. She’s so _happy._

Iris drops a hand to Aranea’s hip, slides a gentle finger over her clit and then rubs her outer lips in little circles, careful and attentive. “You smell so...taste so good.” Her voice trembles. “Anything you want...let me give it to you.” Damn it, she’s starting to lose herself. “Let me…”

Aranea leans forward, out of Iris’ lap, and rests face-down on the bed. She sits on her knees to raise her hips into the air and grumbles, hardly audible: “...Take care of me.”

She’s dripping, Iris notices, and the sight is almost as arousing as it is simply flattering. Iris rises to her knees quickly, smiling as Aranea looks away with noticeably red ears. So, she does get embarrassed.

“I will.” Iris prods only slightly, holding Aranea's hips to steady herself. She pushes in a little more; Aranea pushes back. Iris pulls back, gives a little thrust — not too deep, not yet. Maybe she’s too cautious. Maybe not. Either way… “I'll take care of you.” Slowly, she slides in further, and Aranea takes her eagerly with a growl. “In here, and out there.”

“I know you will,” Aranea says, a little breathy. “A bit more than I thought…”

“Too big?” Iris asks, pausing.

Aranea does what she can to take matters into her own hands, pushing back. “Mmm. Almost. But it's just right. Just…” She whimpers into the sheets to muffle the noise. “...Iris?” The way she croons the name kicks Iris’ heart into her throat, burning and throbbing.

“Yes?”

“I’m a big girl. You don’t need to hold back.”

Iris slides her tongue between her teeth. She’s been found out.

Aranea turns her head, glances at Iris out of the corner of her eye. “...Please?”

And how could Iris refuse? “Yes.” She pulls Aranea toward her, bucks her hips — “Yes, of course,” — and thrusts to the sound of Aranea’s voice cracking. “I’m sorry I made you wait.” Aranea grips the sheets; Iris pries her hands from the fabric and pins them to her back. Aranea swears — and Iris likes it. She likes it a lot.

“You’re so cute like that,” Iris purrs.

Aranea bites back with a gnarred, “Fuck off.”

“Big girls don’t whine,” Iris teases, and her own little growl slips out. “Seems like you enjoy it deep down, anyway.” She hums with satisfaction as Aranea’s moans become more pronounced.

“Shut your  _ ah—” _   


“It’s dripping down your leg, Ara. You’re making such a mess.”

“Your  _ fault.” _

“Mmmhm.”

It’s too much fun. It’s so fulfilling, so magnificent, so  _ perfect _ to have Aranea here like this. Iris keeps her rhythm steady and powerful, in and out and in and out, over and over, incentivized by Aranea’s poorly restrained, enchanting whimpers. She takes one hand away from Aranea’s wrists to slap her ass with a force that  _ shouldn’t  _ bruise. But Aranea immediately corrects her error, hissing, “Harder.” Happy to comply, Iris smacks her again,  _ considerably  _ harder, and for a moment she thinks Aranea comes right then; what with the string of swears that spills out of her mouth. She continues either way, slapping Aranea’s ass with her open hand, fondles the flesh, smacks it again — and again, and again. Poor thing’s gonna bruise  _ bad. _

_ “Shit, Iris—”  _ and Aranea’s shoulders stiffen. “Fuck, just…”

“Mhmmmmm,” Iris hums, gleefully obnoxious. She releases Aranea’s wrists, only for the purpose of giving the other cheek some love. If it caught her off guard, she’d jump at the sound her hand makes against the skin. Aranea, holding her hands behind her back all on her own — how adorable —  _ yells,  _ and Iris just has to compliment her. “You’re driving me crazy, Aranea. You sound so beautiful, Aranea. My wonderful, wonderful girl.” She has so many kisses and nibbles just waiting, dancing behind her lips, for Aranea. So many hugs and massages, a meal if she wants it, when they’re done. Anything, everything for her.

“Will you come for me?” Iris asks, far more subdued and sincere than her previous commentary. She slaps Aranea’s ass again. “Please come for me, Aranea. Please.” Another strike. “Please...please…?” Iris is murmuring now, begging in earnest. “Please, Aranea.” Her hand clouts the burning red skin again. “Please. Please.”

Aranea gives Iris everything she wants. Her entire body shakes and she cries out so loud the neighbors will be after Iris’ head. Her knees give out and she collapses into a panting mess, squirming with wave after wave of gratification. Iris lies next to her, unwilling to spare a second before taking Aranea’s face in her hands and kissing her. She’s starved for it, obsessed, out of control of herself, and Aranea tolerates it. How, Iris might never know. But she kisses, and kisses, and kisses, and kisses, and  _ kisses  _ Aranea until her mouth is dry and some iota of sense returns to her brain.

Iris sits up, heaves a few breaths, and rubs her temples. Aranea elects to remain situated on her stomach, and props her upper body up with her forearms.They exchange a look. Iris bites her lip.

“...Sorry. I kind of got…”

“That was fun.”

Iris blinks. Did she hear that right? “Sorry, what was that?”

“I’m not gonna be able to sit right for a while, and my back hurts...but that was fun.”

Strangely, a little bit of Iris’ guilt feels alleviated.

“I don’t exactly…” Aranea clears her throat. “I don’t...really get to have it like that. Call it a secret. It felt good.”

“Wanna go again?” Iris asks, completely serious.

Aranea rolls her head over her shoulders, popping a couple of joints. “Six, what  _ are _ you?”

“You didn’t say no.”

“You’re hard to say no to.” Aranea sighs, a delightfully genuine smile gracing her face. “Maybe if my ass didn’t need a potion.” The smile stretches into something forced and awkward. “Also I may have...definitely squirted on your bed.”

Iris shrugs. “I spilled the lube.”

Aranea gives an amused, “Tsk.” She lies flat again, clearly having no intention of getting up anytime soon. “What now?”

Iris glances at Aranea’s hands, and at the wrists she’d been holding in place. “Wanna...hold hands?”

“No, you freak, what the hell? Gross.”

Iris pouts. “Fine. How’s a massage?”

“Please and thank you.”

Iris begins to unfasten her harness, beaming at Aranea like an idiot. “Anything for you.”


	3. Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris prepares dinner for two with an injured hand, and Aranea's feeling all mushy and gross.

Iris sprinkles rosemary over a pot of tomato soup with a shaky hand. The bandages and persistent aches aren't doing anything for her ability to cook, but she's still plenty capable of heating up something out of a can. It's a hell of a loot, considering it's only a few months past its "best by" date. It's hard to believe people used to complain about preservatives. "Sorry for the wait." Iris lifts the pot, and her knuckles pop. She winces but endures it, picking up the first of two bowls in her uninjured hand. The pot trembles in her unsteady grip, but it's manageable. Certainly not enough of a pain for Iris to consider asking for assistance. Her mild struggle, however, is enough to prompt Aranea to stand from the wooden dining table and take about five steps to reach the kitchen.

"You're doing amazing, sweetie," Aranea says with enough sarcasm to power the city for a week. "Really, just ask for a hand once in a while." She takes the pot by the handle, smirking unconsciously as Iris huffs in defeat. "Stop being cute." She pours soup into the first bowl. Iris sets it aside. They fill the second bowl in the same manner, and something about it feels oddly normal. Domestic? Aranea isn't exactly eager to admit that she _likes_ instances like this, but she's slowly warming up to the idea. Iris is strong, with an ego to match, and her kindness always shines through, even in the face of hell on Eos.

Gushing? Ew. Letting Iris cook dinner for her is cloying enough.

Aranea sets the pot back on the stove and reaches for one of the bowls. "Well, Chef, let's eat."

"Yeah," Iris says, carefully picking up the other bowl and following Aranea's lead to the table.

Tomato soup and (probably) drinkable water. A feast fit for royalty. Compared to tasteless jerky that seems to be the only thing in abundance, it's something to be excited about. "Many thanks for the meal," Aranea says. She picks her spoon up off the table and dips it into the soup. Iris mirrors her action. They bring their spoons to their lips…

"Hm," Aranea says thoughtfully. "Tastes like shit."

Iris is already getting her second spoonful. "Yep. Easy on the stomach, though."

"Fortunately. Don't want a repeat of the bean incident." Aranea resumes eating.

Iris groans. " Ugh, you heard about that?"

"Your brother just loves to talk about you. Talcott, too."

"Oh, they are _so_ gonna get it."

"Easy there, tiger. Vengeance is more satisfying on a full stomach."

Iris slouches in her chair and eats quietly for a while. Aranea watches her, not particularly looking for anything but simply enjoying the view. Generally speaking, Iris is a sight for sore eyes. She's a gorgeous woman in a dingy, sectioned-off part of a decent city in a ruined world. A warm light in a cold darkness that Aranea wants to hoard all to herself.

"You're staring," Iris says before sipping up the last of her soup. Aranea still has a good third of the way to go. Iris always has eaten a deal quicker than her. How Aranea knows that, she isn't sure. It's not like they've shared many meals outside of camp, which amounts to maybe twenty-something times over the past couple of years. But back to the current situation.

"I like looking at you," Aranea says. She spares one of her reserved but sincere smiles, tiny enough to cover with a finger or a spoon. She doesn't hide it, though, and she's treated to the view of Iris' own smile.

Moments like this are dangerous, should the worst happen and Aranea's dear light be taken from her in the uncertain future. But these moments are also so, so important. If a bit... _very_ , sappy. Aranea makes a mental note to cook for Iris the next time she thrusts her lance too hard and displaces her shoulder. "This seriously tastes like shit. I wish I could have seconds."


End file.
